Never in my wildest dreams did I anticipate that a single afternoon might alter the paths that my life would take, or at the very least, change the way that a room full of people would perceive me. My name is Vivian, and I have spent the better part of three decades attempting to maintain harmony among my family, even if it meant sacrificing my own dignity. Despite the fact that it was not always simple, I took great satisfaction in my ability to be patient, understanding, and forgiving. On the other hand, I learned that tolerance has its limitations on the day that my only son, Derek, publicly h.u.m.iliated me at his wedding.
Derek had always been troublesome to deal with. I found him to be brilliant, engaging, and fiercely independent; nevertheless, he also possessed a streak of arrogance that occasionally caused me to grimace. I had made an effort to cultivate his gifts, encourage his aspirations, and be there for him when he made mistakes, with the expectation that my love which was unconditional would be sufficient. More often than not, it had been the case. The day of his wedding is still to come.
A magnificent vineyard on the outskirts of our city served as the venue for the wedding, which was itself a beautiful event. It smelled like flowers that had just bloomed and grass that had just been cut. The trellises allowed sunlight to penetrate them, which resulted in gentle shadows being created on the white seats that were arranged for our visitors. A gathering of family, friends, and coworkers took place, during which they drank champagne and conversed in quiet tones.
I had spent several weeks getting ready. I made sure that I looked my best, that I recalled everyone’s names, and that I maintained my composure not only for the ceremony, but also for the innumerable micro-moments of interaction that occurred simultaneously. My dress was sophisticated yet simple, and it was a gentle shade of blue that matched my eyes. She carried herself with the quiet pride of a mother who had worked painstakingly to raise her kid. My hair had been styled by a professional, and I carried myself with that satisfaction.
All appeared to be in great order. Before the reception begins.
The chandeliers and floral arrangements in the reception hall made the space look sparkling. The tables were arranged with crystal glasses, plates with gold rims, and menus printed in handwriting that was tasteful and sophisticated. There was a quiet hum of excitement, as well as the sound of glasses being clinked together, and the air was filled with laughter. Derek and his new bride, Lila, were beaming as they made their way through the crowd, smiling and expressing their appreciation to all who had shown their support.
I was seated at the head table, next to my husband, Martin, who appeared to be at an especially high level of tension on that particular day. Despite the fact that he had been supportive throughout the entire process, I figured that it was the typical “father of the bride” nerves.
It was then that the speeches began, which was the moment that everyone had been anticipating. People from the family, friends, and even a few coworkers were waiting in line to offer their congrats, words of wisdom, and humorous comments. An atmosphere of eager expectancy pervaded the room as people raised their glasses and cameras began to click.
The first person was Derek. After clearing his throat, he stood up and lifted the microphone toward his ear. Because everyone in the room was so excited to hear what he had to say, there was a gap in the conversation.
Next, he turned his gaze onto me.
With a tone that was nonchalant yet dripping with scorn, he began by saying, “Well, I suppose I should begin by expressing my gratitude to my mother.” Let me tell you something, Vivian: you’ve been… fascinating. I am constantly hovering, constantly worried, and constantly attempting to make my life seem flawless. I suppose that’s what mothers do, but there are moments when an excessive amount of affection may be… suffocating.
I felt as though I had been punched in the chest by the words. He proceeded to speak, and the visitors began to chuckle politely, but as he continued, the volume of their laughter increased.
“I mean, Mom, you always wanted me to be the best at everything—school, sports, and social life. You are the reason I am here today.” It is impossible for me to make a mistake. And to tell you the truth, there were occasions when I had the impression that you didn’t trust me to figure out anything on my own.
The atmosphere in the room had become tight. Some guests looked at one other in an odd manner. A look of rage could be seen on Martin’s face. I, on the other hand, did not move and instead grabbed my napkin firmly in an effort to maintain my composure.
The microphone was brought closer to Derek’s body. “And don’t even attempt to get me started on your sense of style. It’s exhausting to see you dress for every function like you’re trying out for a magazine, Mom. You look like you’re making an audition.
There were a few guests who laughed uneasily. I had a surge of h.u.m.iliation which washed over me. Every single year of sacrifices, every single night spent fretting, every single meal that was prepared, and every single load of washing that was done, all of these things were reduced to snarky words in front of an audience that I hardly knew.
My desire was to hide myself away in my seat. As much as I wanted to vanish. On the other hand, a spark was kindled someplace deep within. A spark that I had repressed for a long time in the sake of being appropriate and being a mother.
